emptybeginnings

To fewer choices. To limiting ourselves.

Saying no to infinite choices. Not getting distracted with shiny objects. Saying no to things and people that are too much or too little. Above and beyond what we need is poison.

Too many choices cost us. We do not have infinite minutes or hours to live. Everything takes time.

We do not have bottomless pit of stomachs, and so if we eat too much, our bellies expand, we get fat, and our knees buckle under the stress. Surrounded by the abundance of choices on what we can eat and what we can drink.

I’ve whittled down my list of what I like. I like water. Bubbly. Tea and Coffee. Everything else is too sweet. Too alcoholic.

I need to eat once a day, preferably during lunch time, with a banana and other pieces of fruit during the day. More than this, I feel sluggish. I like eating fresh vegetables and food that I can recognize come straight from the ground. And so, I find myself in the fresh produce section. Nowhere else.

Limiting my choices frees up my mental capacity to nourish me in the best way that works for me.

And so, I dedicate this love letter for finding our own Goldilocks moments. Limiting choices and automating what works for us, humanly and intentionally.

5 days in a row of morning meditations and 4 evenings.

비 온다. 온 세상이 잔잔해진다. 집에 처박혀있지 않고, 이렇게 나와 커피 마시며 밖을 쳐다보고 있다. 그러고 싶어서. 내가 나를 위해 편지를 쓴다. 버스 한 대가 지나간다. 일꾼들도 천천히 걸어간다. 미래의 여기는 미국의 캘리포니아 처럼 바뀔거다. 시간은 뒤돌아보지 않는다. 눈은 얼굴에 밖혀있고. 과거는 지났고, 물은 위로 흐르지 않는다.

To days that rain and stop. To skies painted baby blue, a litttle bit darker, with hues of white, covered in thick grey blanket. A sight visible to those dare to look beyond the screen and what is in front of us.

To going outside. Saying no to staying in, covered in blankets. Saying yes to being exposed to the world. Sitting at Montreal Coffee & Bagels, easy music plays in the background and cars drive slowly on the wet pavement. City bus rolls forward, carrying people on their way to work.

As I look around construction sites, I imagine what this place will look like in five years. I imagine it won’t be different from Los Angeles or San Francisco. Little shops replaced by national and global brands like Poetry, already open for business.

I wonder if I should buy one of these high rises going up now. Secure the place close to the promenade that I love so much. A clear and safe pathway to go for walks in between the rains, hails, heat and the night. Patrolled by policemen and safety crew alike. To make the beggars move, preventing informal camps, making it nicer for locals and visitors alike.

The phrase that keeps going through my head, “If you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.”

And so, I am getting clearer with my actions, with a clearer purpose. Finish 100 days of love letters. Start and close with meditations. Get at least 6000 steps in. Use the Health app to monitor my movements. Go for walks in between meetings. Use the gaps. Don’t wait for perfetion. Do the work. Volunteer. Speak up.

Remember. There is a difference between doing and getting it done.

We often get stuck with doing, analyzing, thinking and planning. We actually never get it done.

It’s like this. If you turn on the light switch, you expect it to work. You don’t care that one wire out of 100 is frayed and doesn’t’ work. It’s 99% in the worker’s mind. The customer sees 0.

While we celebrate efforts and hard work, we are measured in binary. On or Off.

Smiles and pleasantries are part of the process, but that’s not the primary driver.

Do smile. Greet people. It makes a difference. Like this morning, as I rounded the corner and turned around, I smiled at the woman who smiled back. An informal exchange with strangers.

Wow, look at that. The blue and white is pushing out the grey! I’m getting exactly what I asked for when deciding to move to Cape Town. I wanted to be in a place whose weather changes, to help me feel the change of time. The passing of seconds and minutes. Not to create chaos or hurry me. Just help me keep clock time, because my sense of time in stillness conflicts against the reality of life. The practical side of setting up and showing up for meetings. The balancing act of dream vs. reality.

Like last night, talking to someone new. He is afraid to go back to work, doing what he’s been doing for thirty years after taking a break. Worrying how to market art he wants to create. If you like working that gives you sense of purpose and accountabiilty, why is it bad? Why do we villify work? What will we do with ourselves once automation takes over? Have you seen Wall-E? I don’t want to ride in hover chairs, growing fat and being too comfortable to sweat.

Why do you care about marketing and selling? You can afford to create bad art. Do a bad job. Then, at least it will be done. And you can move on.

Here I am, eating what I sell. Writing. Doing a bad job. A job, still. And so, when I am done, I can go back and put on the work face. To drive up accountability. To get things done. To move us forward. Not as the driver, but as the enabler. The catalyst to create chemical reaction to move away from zero sum game. To get to 1+1+1 = 1000.

Remembering what I read last year. Why worry about competition? Why waste time looking outside when I can look within? Be so good and so far ahead of them, you trail blaze and leave everyone behind. Move on. Play by your own rules. Create your own game.

With a smile, I end this love letter.

Everything changes. Yet, everything remains.

Four days in a row of morning + evening meditations with daily love letters. High five. Well done, me!

To being open to possibilities. To putting myself out there, despite heart breaks and unreturned invitations.

To putting on blue rain boots for the first time, going for a walk during intermission between the main act of rain and hail. To going on dates with myself with the sky closed and wind asleep.

As I get closer to the water’s edge, I question reality. Deep blue sky wedged in between grey clouds on the bottom; purple and lilac’s on the top, reflecting descending sun’s rays.

Night’s act come to life. Darkness draws the act of day like curtains on stage. Rainbow of blue paint the world around me. Lucky to be out, no longer avoiding the discomfort. Witnessing brutal beauty of nature. Brutal because it’s harsh. Beautiful because it is.

I now chase discomfort. Growth lives in unfamiliar territory.

It is safe to go outside. It is always a good idea to go for walks. To witness silver lining in between the storms that come and go.

There is always light at the end of every tunnel. I don’t know how long this ride will be, and how long I’ll be in the shadow.

And so, I remind myself. Again and again.

To stay open. To put myself out there. To say yes to meeting all the wrong people. Until I reach the end of this tunnel, and the next, and the next. Knowing and believing that I will meet when I am ready. When I am out.

There is no arriving. There is no destination. There is only living.

Last night’s meditations 38 minutes, this morning full hour.

4am wake up.

It is still dry outside, rain expected to pour in 90 minutes.

Three days in a row of morning meditations. Two days of evenings. Going to sleep early increases odds of early mornings.

Last night, colleague and friend calls and we speak for an hour, him trying to help troubleshoot an issue with my phone. I tell him about people challenges and he shares how he used to be like the new manager that I just hired.

Speaking to him, I see how these people challenges don’t stress me. Having to pivot my interactions with the new line and everyone else around him. A fault I am working to correct. Giving people too much credit too soon and unsubstantiated. I hired him knowing that he lacked people and project management experience. A young guy, 10 years my junior. An individual contributer and not a getting things doner. And so, we’ll set up everything like a program, into projects, and into smaller deliverables. I wonder out loud why I don’t keep this way of working.

Because it takes a lot more energy and time from me, and it creates friction on the team, as this way of working is unnatural to them. Driving accountability. Rejecting multiple drafts. Do it again. And again and again. My old boss used to reject past 100 versions until she was happy. I’m used to it, but I cannot imagine this being ok with the general population.

What does this show me? That I’ve been doing this for eleven years, this people and portfolio management, and I’m rather experienced. Line management is not something you can go to school for, and learn about. It comes from experience, and maybe the biggest skill is listening.

And because of the gap, I find myself exercising my management and leadership muscles, filled with renewed purpose I’ve been lacking.

My beliefs? Anything is possible. Accountabiity and showing up trumps intentions and ideas. Keeping promises and holding ourselves to the highest standards. You say I’m hard on myself. If I am not hard on myself, how can I improve? Yet, when I was falling sleep few nights ago, I find compassion, the self barraging remarks restrained and barely a whisper. Acknowledge what did not happen instead of uttering, “I can’t believe you did that”

Years ago, playing Cards against humanity, a game I dislike. Someone joked that Heaven is full of Jobs. Jobs give us a sense of purpose. A level of stress and engagements. We have no choice but to go to work to earn the pay that came in this morning (thank you, payroll god). We have no choice but to attend meetings and speak to people we dislike. This is where I learned to have necessary conversations instead of trying to keep the peace (this tendency rears its head still). It forces us to round off our edges, once mistaken ourselves as stars, becoming an irregular circle. Rounder and shinier, with fewer ragged edges.

And so, the love letter is dedicated to my job. My title. My portfolio. My company. My team that forces me to see the truth and where I need to step in. The job that forces me to get up early to meditate, go for a walk, and look presentable so that I can be at my best and provide value to our business. Because I respect my job, my business, and what we do. Because we are in symbiosis. Without the job, I become aimless. Without me, the company will function just fine, I know. But I know I am adding value, and I’m grateful for the little stressors and people that sand paper me down to the shiny torquiose pebble I like to pick up, while walking on sand.

Last night’s meditation: 37 minutes. This morning, one hour.

Cursor blinks, white screen illuminating my face. An incense burns to my right. A cup of freshly brewed coffee steams up my face. I exhale and close my eyes. Hunched over, sitting on the stool, I type.

How do I feel? As I ask myself, my back straightens, and inhale a little before exhaling.

Last night, after walking over to the Winchester to meet friends, I invite them over to check out my place. To help one with her market research before moving to Cape Town in September. Before leaving, I tell them I will kick them out early so I can meditate and repeat the successes of today tomorrow.

One sees a deck of Tarot cards and asks for a reading.

I let them go first, questions around love and family. Common denominator of human existence. We seek to belong. Families and love we desire.

I recommend they listen to this podcast between Chris Williamson and Steve Bartlett on Why Finding Love seems harder. https://open.spotify.com/episode/0SkqmUIAd9AtBlLLgICmpR

I am trying to stop from chasing butterflies. Instead, tend to a garden to invite them in. A sanctuary. Full of food and water. A place to rest. Here, we are at peace.

We must belong to ourselves first and foremost. Everything else follows. Everyone else is secondary.

I am last to go. I ask what I must let go of. What I need to focus on now.

Upside down Page of Cups and Ten of Swords.

What do I notice? Celtic Cross reading from two weeks ago. Upright Page of Cups to signal what is behind me. 8 of Swords showing my hopes and fears, me ignoring what I need to see, restraining myself. So to see 10 of Swords signifying the end of a chapter doesn’t surprise me. The rock bottom, with the only way up.
I do not design my life around Tarot Cards. A taboo and voodoo for those inclined towards religion. It is another medium to connect with myself. No different from weighing myself, and measuring my eye sight. They are all subjective measures, meaningless without an objective frame or context.

Past two weeks – has it been that long? – spent in darkness, pain body activating, restraining myself, keeping myself still with my eyes wide open, sleepwalking. And so the stye on my right eye, that is finally healing after a month, what does it all mean?

I am entering a new chapter of more awareness and mindfulness.

Made possible by going back to the mat and connecting with the body.

Reminding myself that there is always time for what matters.

To meditate. An hour passes quickly to my surprise.

To make the bed.

Open the window and let the yesterday be gone. Invite today in. Grind the beans. Open the tap to pour water into the stove expresso maker. Add the ground coffee. Let the heat from the bottom let the steam pass through the grinds. Gurgling and steaming faster than usual, with the hot water pre-boiled from the kettle.

Reminded by the previous reading: Page of Pentacles: Stay grounded in yourself. Keep investing in yourself – your joy, creativity, future. You don’t have to chase or fix or prove anything. Give with your whole heart, yes – but you don’t have to overextend to keep something balanced.

Mixed signals are not love. If something feels confusing or inconsistent, move on. Clarity and mutuality does not take guess work.

It’s like the recent training on how to communicate with impact. Doing so not only improves our work, but our life holistically.

Why? Because it enables us to communicate clearly and intentionally. Cutting through noise and clutter. This does not mean we are overly direct or unkind in our delivery. It does mean we are clear and the listener understands exactly what you are looking for. It is about having the courage to recognize what it is that we want. And two, speaking the truth, ready to walk away from the deal if the buyer isn’t willing to pay the market price.

It’s about saying ‘no’ to ostensibly exciting opportunities overseas. What was once exciting is now a distraction from my purpose.

Again, I ask myself. What kind of love letter is this?

To words and thoughts, typed with my fingers, straight from the heart. Without discernment, I want to write, but this sounds wrong. With honesty and without fear is what I mean. Knowing that only I can hurt myself. The world is there to help me achieve what I have set out to do. All I have to do is Decide is what all my loved ones and universal signs tell me.

To my craft, these words I write. To literacy. To the able body. I write the love letter wrapped in gratitude and joy.

Meditation one hour

How I start my mornings sets the tone for the rest of the day. If I don’t meditate and sleep in. Rising after the sun, not having left the house, I feel lethargic. I lock myself in, not responding and closing myself to the outside world. Taking care of urgent matters at work. I become unconscious, choosing to shut out the world, sleep walking. Stuffing myself, trying to dull myself to sleep. This goes on for two weeks, until the energetic clearing last Thursday.

He clears energy centers: Root, Solar plexus, heart, third eyes.

I start feeling better the next day. He says I am moving through a karmic cycle linked to my mother around separation, being misplaced, feeling unwanted/unneeded, and understanding my worth as an Asian woman and culturing differences.

He’s cleared thought forms around love, fear, uncertainty and life journey.

How do you clear blockages and dullness that come and go? Do you have a shaman?

I have gotten better at managing everyday struggles that come and go. When I feel the heaviness rise, I find myself running away by shutting out the outside. I keep myself still and small, turning off the light. To go back to the place I chose to leave, that keeps beckoning me home. Yet it is not a home. It just feels familiar. A space of self-preservation where nothing can get in. Nothing can get out. A self-imposed cage with the door that swings out into the world.

To not meditate daily is like trying to boil water by applying heat and turning it off just before it before. It gets lukewarm, and maybe hot. But it never boils, to enter the next phase of transformation.

To not meditate daily is like not brushing my teeth, letting things get stuck between, food from yesterday living in all the wrong places, rotting and festering, blackening teeth.

I know, it sounds gross. Because it is. The mind needs daily cleaning at least once, if not twice. I sit here, in a modified space, with a dedicated laptop from my wonderful brother.

Trying to get here, I found myself in another blogpost, with encouraging comments from other readers telling me not to stop. They really enjoy my blogs. Thank you for posting. Thank you for encouraging me. I needed to hear that, though I wasn’t even aware of it.

How do you find your way back to yourself? How do you stop running away from yourself, a futile effort. It’s like a dog chasing to catch its tails. Except, it’s opposite. Running away from the shadows. The only way to stop the shadow is to turn off the light, and step into darkness. Or, always be under the sun at its zenith at perfect 90 degree angle. This is impossible.

And so, I am finding myself way back through a different type of stillness. Meditation and an early morning.

I am now going for a walk on the promenade. To move and feel the air move around me.

This love letter is to myself. The child I must take care of. The body I must look after. See you tomorrow. Hopefully at the same time, and at the same place.

As soon as I push into it, it presses into me, but just a little bit. The soft cushion supporting the curves of my back, as the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath me feels light against tired body.

This bed, I purchased last year on Black Friday special after selling my previous one just a year before. Mistakenly thinking that I would move to Korea and start a new life there, and never to return to South Africa aside from visiting friends and godson.

A bad decision in hindsight, not to store the bed in storage for six months; would have been much cheaper than purchasing a new bed. Little did I realize that I would pay more with worsening exchange rate and price escalation from inflation and other increases.

I thought I would ‘rough’ it with a bed ordered from Sloom, without a bed room, living on the floor. But my body said no. It is not comfortable. Living on the floor is also not okay. I’m not a university student anymore.

And so, I looked for the perfect bed. The one bed just for me, at a bed shop near the hood. The first one I chose, I went back to purchase from a different sales man, upsetting the original guy who helped me.

Teaching me that I know what I want, and the first choice is often the one I purchase, because other options are only distractions.

And so, on this bed, I find myself. Marveling at its softness and comfort I feel every time I find myself horizontal. Yet, why do I find myself passing out on the hard futon sofa for two nights in a row?

Oh bed, I shall greet you tonight, with appreciation and awe for all the joys you provide me.

Come to think of it, all beds I’ve ever purchased have been premium. Expensive and queen sized.

And so, I’m going to stick to being myself. In this bed, getting a good night’s rest.

Good night, and sleep well.

It’s been 16 days since I last wrote.

To technology, that helps with human connections, I thank you.

When I started traveling in 2002, it was difficult to stay in touch with friends and family in Korea. I could only send messages in English on my phone, a problem because my relatives and friends don’t speak English. I couldn’t write in Korean because the multiple language packs we take for granted did not yet exist.

It was like writing on a fixed number of keys on a type writer, and sending the message over the phone.

Sometime between then and now, I can send a message in any language I want.

Just now, I updated the Whatsapp profile picture of a group chat, to get everyone excited for the December family trip.

How magical is it to be able to speak to loved ones globally at the touch of finger tip? To share photos and silly banter with no expectations, happy with the asynchronous feedback loop. For me, who used to struggle to communicate in one language, I am much happier than I used to be.

I know. Social media has its down sides, but after so many scrolls, listening and watching digital content, I am more inspired to go outside and explore.

Digital device is for use when I am alone, away from people. The phone allows me to connect, plan and set aside time (calendar invites), so that I can be fully present with the person I choose to spend time with.

I used to lament technology and talk about good old day.
I was wrong, and I am wrong often. The good old day is today.

Have a great evening. Thanks for stopping by. I have a lot of catching up to. Except I cannot. I can only move forward. Today is day 74. I had posted into the future, day 76. So I have to write Day 75 and 77 onwards.

It is day of her retirement ceremony. Her spaceship transports 6 adults and 2 children. We leave our phones in the car, as we are entering a secure military compound. Two photographers will capture the event with real cameras, not phones.

We set up 100 cupcakes on plastic table clothes, careful to display them to make them pretty. I greet people warmly as they enter, and they ignore me, with me feeling the culture difference between South Africa and America.

What a well thought out and curated ceremony.

Delesa is in the middle, atop a stage, with the Master Sergeant on our right, to her left, and Commander to her right, and our left.

Commander’s speech celebrates family, mentioning things about us only Delesa would know. Meaning, she wrote the beginning of his speech. The master sergeant’s mentioned how she was the sandpaper to our older sister’s growth. And Unni’s speech to her family was warm and tear jerking. Making every one of women cry.

A beautiful moment for her, and dissolution of all my worries. She starts out saying that someone told her to never meet a recruiter by herself, to get things in writing. Had she done this and entered into the officer route, she wouldn’t have met her husband, and our nieces would not be our nieces. Surrounded by her family, friends, colleagues and accolades. I see she is fine. She was fine. She will be fine. I do not have to worry about her. She is living her best life with a husband who has been with her. Who has stayed. A stable life grounded by her family. And I see what I needed. I had been so worried about her, that I was using her as a barrier to see what I needed to do for my self. Using sacrifices as excuses to do what I needed to do.

With the tears that flow down, hearing her acknowledge my time in Korea. When I flew, and felt helpful. Learning that we can only do what we can, and nothing is possible afterwards.

With the tears that washed over me, I let go of all worry and guilt for those that took care of me. An important moment, for me. For my own life.

Unni wants to bring family and friends back home, but we think otherwise. Stella books out a restaurant and I pay. Taking the reign from her in-laws. The lady in honor passes out after drinking wine, and I fuel the car, on the dangerous empty line before we go back home to rest.

I wake up earlier than the 4am alarm, with my little sister puttering around. I drop her off at the terminal before dropping off the car. Getting lost, leaving the airport and coming back in. It is 4:30am, and there is no traffic. We land at La Guardia, to meet her girlfriend. The iced coffee and bagel from Boston is not as good as the everything bagel Stella gets for S.

After pleasantries, and the two finding seats next to each other, we land in Norfolk. For my very first time, no one is here to pick us up. Busy with celebratory preparations. An uber picks us up, with a young man playing Santeria in the background. I feel as if we are inside 1997.

When we get there, no one is home. I go buy Korean groceries, and pick up Audrey on the way back. Who is sick, only to find out later she wanted to come home early to partake in all the festivities. I was afraid the school wouldn’t let me pick her up because I am not registered as one of the authorized. I bring my license, with the same last name. And the fact that Audrey recognizes me and is at ease with me releases her to me.

One by one, the family arrives. I tell older sister about the tombstone, and she says fine. No apology. I bite my tongue. These few days are about her. I let her go. Is this called growing up? But also seeing that the addition was the literal last nail on the coffin. He had sealed his fate by the way he lived, and on his epitaph, the truth of his capitulation. The promise of rebirth to see if he can be free to live his own life.

We are supposed to go out to dinner, but I knew I wouldn’t enjoy the food. So I make bibimbap and other side dishes, including kimchi. I was right. The cold platter of cheese and marinated vegetables are salty and straight out of the can. I pick at others fries and come home.

Still, it is wonderful to be with everyone. In the evening, I go and pick up the brother, everyone else too tired to drive. The way there feels dangerous, with foggy windows in the spitting rain, that I cannot see out of, in this massive spaceship when I am used to my Volkswagen Polo. At least, on the way back, the rain abates and we get home safely. My brother hadn’t read the chats and didn’t see that the ceremony is actually tomorrow, not Saturday. That we are all leaving on Saturday and not Sunday. He promptly switches his ticket, as to not be the last one leaving.

We get home, and I decide to sleep downstairs, on another sofa. Because I don’t want to snore and inconvenience the sister and her partner. And also to give them the space and privacy that would be given to a straight couple.